


Blue Raspberry Le-Moon-Ade

by aussiebee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Candy, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Physical Therapist Derek Hale, Sheriff Stilinski Ships It, mistaken age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 19:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16750363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/pseuds/aussiebee
Summary: After the sheriff is shot, Stiles meets his gorgeous physical therapist and begins a charm offensive to woo the hell out of the guy.Unfortunately for him, Derek thinks he's a student.





	Blue Raspberry Le-Moon-Ade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eeyore9990](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/gifts).



Stiles came by his stubbornness somewhere, okay, and yeah, his mom had been as stubborn as the day was long, but when it came to really putting the foot down and straight up refusing to acknowledge reality, well. That was all his dad.

Denial wasn’t just a place John was planning to retire.

This was the only explanation Stiles had for startling awake when his dad reentered the room after his first physical therapy session to find a demigod staring at him with a bemused expression, taking in the way Stiles was laid out with his head tipped over the back to the chair to rest against the wall, one leg up on the edge of his dad’s bed and the other in the second drawer of the bedside table.

“Hey, kiddo,” John said, his face drawn in the way that Stiles knew meant he would sleep like the dead just as soon as he’d swallowed half a pharmacy’s worth of pain pills. Or told the nurses he had, at least.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Stiles hissed as he jerked upright, the psychology text he’d been going through as part of his investigation sliding out of his lap to land with a thump on the floor as Tall, Dark and Probably-Immortal helped John into the room proper.

“That’s probably true,” John grunted unrepentantly as Matthew Daddario’s Hotter Cousin eased him down onto the bed and lifted his feet up onto the bed. “But what, in particular, have I done to mortally offend you this time?”

Jerking his foot out of the bedside drawer without even pulling the whole thing over onto its face (which,  _ success) _ Stiles pointed an accusatory finger at Ian Somerhalder’s Sexier Younger Brother.

John sighed. “Derek, this is my son, Stiles. Stiles, Derek, my physical therapist.”

“Hey,”  _ Derek, apparently, _ said, eyebrows lifted as he cast an appraising glance over Stiles, taking in the battered sneakers, paperwork spilling from his old high school backpack, folders and texts scattered around him, and the perpetual bedhead which refused to be sexy, no matter how much Stiles tempted it with overpriced products to be so.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed, “I’m gonna need your address.”

“I-- what.” Derek asked.

Stiles wasn’t sure it was a question.

Stiles was in  _ love. _

“I need somewhere to have the RSVPs for the wedding sent,” he explained patiently to the future Mr. Stilinski.

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see a ring on this finger,” he said with a pointed look at his left hand. “Also: I don’t date patients.” He held up his annoyingly-unadorned hand to halt Stiles’ inevitable counterargument. “Or their families.”

“Did he say son?” Stiles said mindlessly, aware of how awful he must be looking, what with his three-weeks-without-sun paleness, deep purple bags beneath his eyes and caffeine-induced DT trembling of his hands, yet still unable to stop. “Because he meant colleague. No relation whatsoever.”

“Uh huh,” Derek said, like a doubting doubter. “Colleague. Sure.”

“I mean,” Stiles forged ahead, “government salaries aren’t what they used to be, but I’ll buy you a ring if that’s what’ll make you happy. A ring for every finger, okay, if that’s what it takes. I’ll do the overtime, work the holidays. I just want you to be happy.”

Watching as the kid reached with shaky hands to smooth the blanket up and over his dad’s legs, Derek got it. He knew the Sheriff was a widower, had been for years, and that he and his son were all they had left in the world. He could see the toll the stress and anxiety of his dad getting shot had taken on Stiles, so Derek decided to cut him a little slack.

“Sure,” he said, keeping a straight face as he filled out John’s paperwork for the session, recording his progress. “If you like it then you better put a ring on it, kid. But I’m not easy; it’s Blue Raspberry Le-Moon-Ade flavour or the wedding’s off.”

The baby-faced kid-- and what the hell kind of name was  _ Stiles?-- _ lit up, his tired eyes shining a little as he nodded decisively. “Deal. Oh I’m gonna husband you so hard, my dude,” he promised.

Derek just snorted and rolled his eyes, ignoring the disgruntled expression John was darting back and forth between them. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sheriff,” he said. “Stiles.”

“Bye, Derek,” Stiles called with a happy little wave, and Derek just barely managed to keep his smile hidden until he pulled the door shut behind him.

“Stiles,” John sighed tiredly as he watched his son stare at the closed door, a ridiculous little smile curling up one corner of his mouth. Damn. That was his Lydia Martin face.  _ “Stiles.” _

“Our babies are going to be beautiful  _ and _ sarcastic,” Stiles said dreamily.

Rolling his eyes, John settled back against his pillows. “I hate to have to tell you, son, but even when a man and another man love each other very much--”

_ “Dad!” _ Stiles exclaimed when the words finally began sinking in.  _ “Gross. _ No. Also: sarcasm? Totally a learned trait. We’ll be adopting a houseful of kids and all of them will be witty and dry and  _ mean.” _ He shivered with anticipation.

“I think I’ll have all of those meds now,” John muttered to himself as Stiles settled back into his chair with a stupid expression on his face. “Hopefully they’ll go heavy on the sedatives.”

* * *

 

As much as Stiles would have liked to have continued his charm offensive the next day, Stiles actually did have to work. The serial killer making their way down the coast was about to strike again, and best guesses had Beacon Hills or Beacon City next on the list to host the murderer sometime within the next month. He spent a gruelling three days running predictions, scouting the bodies of freshwater in the area and going over and over the scant evidence they already had to try and find that one thing that would crack the case for them, all activities that kept him out of the hospital.

When he snuck back in in the dark hours of Thursday morning, bribing the nurses on night shift with Chinese food and coffee from Starbucks and not the mobile food violation van perpetually parked by the park across the street, Stiles was pleased to see his dad sleeping peacefully, his brow uncreased and his expression pain free from what he could see by the meagre light cast through the door’s window from the hall.

Getting the call that his dad had been shot in the chest had been the worst moment of his life. The potential for him to lose his last remaining family member had sent screaming panic through him, and he remembered nothing on the mad (and probably illegal) drive from Sacramento that he’d made in a quarter of the time it usually took. He knew for sure at least two of the BCSD deputies had seen him speed into town, but as of yet no one had mentioned anything about it.

Since then he’d been running on a combination of terror, energy drinks and pressure from above regarding the case he was working on, and had barely had time to stop over the last fortnight. He dropped his backpack of case notes down beneath the window, settled into his chair and folded his arms over his chest as he propped his feet up on his dad’s bed, sighing softly as he leaned back to try and get a couple of hours sleep before having breakfast with his dad and returning to the makeshift FBI base of operations set up within the Sheriff’s Department.

It seemed like barely five minutes later that the sound of soft conversation woke him, his eyes stinging as he opened them slowly to find Derek sitting on the end of John’s bed and smiling a little as John had his vitals read by Melissa. He didn’t miss the way she slipped her hand into John’s and squeezed gently once she was done, or the way his dad blushed and looked after her as she slipped from the room.

“Still got it, Pops,” Stiles croaked, because he was exactly that kind of asshole.

“Guess that makes one of us,” his dad replied tartly, scowling over at him. “I don’t know how you expect to get yourself a partner when you snore like that.”

Sitting upright and rubbing a hand over his face as he stretched his neck, Stiles managed a wry grin for Derek as he reached over to haul his backpack into his lap. “Speaking of,” he said, reaching into the front pocket, “a sweetie for my sweetie.”

Scowling, Derek caught the Ring Pop packet that Stiles tossed to him, glancing down at it with a twitch of his lips that Stiles could tell was totally a smile wanting to come out. “I will accept this  _ only _ if you promise to never say that again,” Derek told him, “in spite of the fact that this is  _ not _ Blue Raspberry Le-Moon-Ade and I am now questioning your commitment to this marriage.”

“You wound me with your lack of faith,” Stiles told him as he covered a yawn. “It’s gonna take some creativity on my behalf given that they  _ stopped making that flavour in the nineties. _ But I did promise one for every finger, so I guess that’s one down and nine to go.” He yawned again and then began cursing a blue streak when he caught sight of the clock over the door. “Shit, sorry Dad, I’m gonna be late and I haven’t even showered since yesterday. Yesterday? Yeah, definitely not Tuesday.” He pointed at Derek. “This is in no way indicative of my usual levels of personal hygiene. I am just under the pump right now and also, my dad got shot. In the  _ chest.” _

“Don’t even try using me as an excuse to hit on my PT, Stiles, christ,” Dad berated.

“Then what’s the point in even keeping you around? May as well pull the plug now,” Stiles said. There was a brief moment where he and his dad just stared at each other, then John’s eyes gentled and he smiled. “Go, before Finstock kills you.”

“Oh god, he absolutely will,” Stiles breathed. “Okay. I’ll be back later, love you Dad. Am a little bit in love with you, too, Derek,  _ bye!” _

Derek just shook his head as he watched Stiles shoulder his pack and race from the room. “Is he always like that?”

“Since the day he was born,” John said fondly. “I’ve lost any hope that he’ll grow out of it.”

“There’s still time, he’s still young,” Derek said with mild foreboding.

John just laughed.

* * *

That was the pattern of the next couple of weeks, right up until the FBI caught the Coastal Carver (and seriously, the press weren’t even trying anymore). Stiles would sneak in most days after midnight and sit with his dad. Derek would show up early to take John to PT, and Stiles would toss him another Ring Pop, flirt outrageously for a little while, then rush off, leaving Derek with something he resolutely refused to call a blush on his cheeks and an increasingly speculative expression on John’s face.

“Does it bother you?” Derek asked quietly one morning as he kept pace with John as he moved down the hallway towards the PT gym.

“What’s that?” John asked, moving with greater ease than he had even the day before.

“Stiles,” Derek said. “The… flirting. The fact that I’m so much older than him.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘so much’,” John replied, trading a smile with Melissa as he passed the Nurse’s Station. “But no, it doesn’t bother me.” A beat. “Does it bother  _ you? _ Because I know Stiles can be a bit intense, but if he knew he was making you uncomfortable he’d stop the second you told him to.”

“No,” Derek said, maybe a little faster than he’d intended. He sighed. “He’s just so…”

“Stiles?” John suggested wryly as they reached the door to the gym. “Yeah, he is that.”

* * *

The morning of John’s last PT session, the same day he was due to be discharged into his own care to go home, Derek entered the room to find John and Stiles standing in the middle of the room, both of them with their ridiculously stubborn expressions in full force and Stiles with insane hair like he’d run his hands through it in exasperation.

“Just the man I wanted to see,” John said, quashing any hope Derek had of sneaking back out of the room before getting dragged into their fight. Would you tell my kid he needs to stop using up all his vacation time on me? Even my  _ doctor-- _ which is not  _ you,  _ kid,” he added with a pointed glare at his son, “agrees that I’m capable of surviving on my own now.”

Startled, Derek frowned. “Vacation time?”

“Yeah,  _ my _ vacation time,” Stiles told his father, crossing his own arms and mirroring his father’s posture. “Derek understands that our honeymoon will have to wait until I’ve built up more. He’s understanding like that, given that he’s been  _ physical therapying _ you for the last three months.”

“That’s not a  _ verb, _ Stiles.”

“Don’t  _ deflect, _ Dad.” Glaring at his father, Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out another Ring Pop and passed it to Derek.

Derek put in his pocket to give to Charlie, the kid with the severely shattered femur down the hall in fourteen without even looking at it because the package was purple, and so was probably grape flavored. It was like Stiles wasn’t even trying, anymore, but Derek still felt a little bad that Stiles was even spending what had to be a good chunk of his allowance allowance on candy for Derek that he had just been giving away to other kids.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, John sighed with the last of his patience for Stiles’ mother henning. “I know you FBI agents mostly just stand around with your thumbs up your asses, but even  _ that _ requires you being present to do so. Now you guys have caught the Carver, I’m sure there’s a mountain of paperwork waiting for you to get sorted.”

Stiles rolled his eyes so hard his head kind of followed with the movement. “Hey, at least we don’t volunteer to be the target for two-bit gas station robbers to shoot at.”

Derek was lost. “FBI?”

“Huh?”

Being the object of dual-Stilinski focus was intimidating to say the least, but Derek continued before he could lose his train of thought. “Aren’t you a student?”

Stiles groaned. “Really? Did Melissa pay you to say that shit? I go undercover at a high school  _ one time _ …”

Oh god.  _ Oh god. _ Derek’s brain began to spin, a little panicked, because this was just not computing. “How old are you?”

Frowning, Stiles answered slowly, as if Derek was having problems comprehending. Probably because he fucking  _ was. _ “I’m twenty seven, dude.”

“Oh.” Derek was doing some fairly rapid mental arithmetic, recalibrating his world view to adjust for Stiles-- clever, bright,  _ gorgeous _ Stiles-- being a god damn adult. And therefore actually attainable. “Uh, I gave all the ring pops to kids in paediatrics.

John started laughing at the stunned expression on Derek’s face, finally getting it. “Oh god,  _ ow,” _ he groaned, pressing the hell of his hand to his newly-repaired bullet hole as he continued to chuckle. “That explains so much.”

It took a moment, but eventually Stiles got it, too. “You thought I was a student? Oh for the lover of-- at least tell me you thought I was in college?”

“...Yes?” Derek tried.

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. “I am Offended,” he said, palnting his hands on his hip as he faced Derek, and Derek could just  _ hear _ the way that word was capitalised. “You’d better take me out to dinner to make up for it.”

Derek finally allowed himself the long moment he’d ignored for as long as he’d known Stiles to actually take stock of the (not-as-young-as-previously-thought) guy standing in front of him, waiting patiently for a reply. Knowing what he now knew-- the way Stiles must have been running himself ragged with work, involving catching a serial killer, no less, but had still made time to just be with his father, to keep his spirits up and motivate him constantly to work at getting himself better, to flirt with Derek while still maintaining a positive if positively  _ insane _ attitude while he did so-- Derek knew there was only one possible reply.

“Sorry,” he said casually, “I only have enough time for coffee with an FBI agent, sorry.” The smirk he shot Stiles was light years away from the we-both-know-I’m-just-humouring-you smiles of the past several weeks, and he was rewarded for the difference with the way Stiles’ mouth dropped open a little and his cheeks pinkened prettily.

“What is this?” Stiles demanded, all bluster as he tried to cover up his reaction. “Gang up on the FBI agent day?”

“I don’t know if you really have the right to call yourself that anymore,” he teased, his heart flipping a little as he flirted with intent, “given that you have all these highly-honed investigation skills but you still haven’t found me a Blue Raspberry Le-Moon-Ade Ring Pop.”

John reached over with a wicked grin and fist bumped Derek.

“Et tu, Brutus?” Stiles growled at his dad. “Fine. But when I do bring you one… and mark my words, Derek Hale, I  _ will _ bring you one, you’re legally obligated to go to dinner with me.”

Derek licked his lips briefly, desire shooting down his spine at the way Stiles’ gorgeous eyes tracked the movement and his pupils dilated a little in interest. “What can I say,” he said, “I’m a law-abiding citizen.”

* * *

Four days later, Derek was waiting in the Starbucks around the corner from his apartment on his day off when Stiles entered. He looked well-rested for the first time in as long as Derek had known him, his skin having lost the unhealthy pallor he’d been sporting for weeks on end and with eyes bright  with energy and interest. He had on a pair of sand-coloured chinos and an obscenely well-fitted navy blue blazer that made Derek’s mouth go dry at the breadth of his shoulders. He knew it was because Stiles had to head back to the office in Sacramento in a couple of hours, but Derek almost didn’t mind because in that moment, watching as Stiles hooked his folded sunglasses into the front of his stark white button-down with huge and sexily-capable hands and a smile that promised sin, Stiles looked fucking  _ edible. _

Derek attempted some semblance of a greeting in something vaguely resembling English, only to stutter to a stop when Stiles went down on one knee before him, holding out a pink and blue Ring Pop.

“Derek, I have scoured the Earth to find you your heart’s truest desire,” Stiles said theatrically. “Would you do me the honour of--”

“Yes,” Derek blurted out.

“--having dinner with me?”

“Oh,” Derek said, face flaming. “I mean, yes to that. Dinner. Yes, I will have dinner with you.”

Staring up at him from where he was still kneeling in front of a cafe filled with gawkers, Stiles’ eyes were wide and his smile was growing to match. “Wait… what did you  _ think  _ I was going to ask?”

“Nothing,” Derek lied, but from the way Stiles bounced to his feet and drew Derek into a deep kiss to the applause of the late-morning coffee crew, he knew.

* * *

Eight months later, when Stiles proposes for real, he does it with a ring containing a stone the exact colour of Derek’s Blue Raspberry Le-Moon-Ade Ring Pop.

* * *

(Dad makes a full recovery but retires three years later when Stiles and Derek adopt their first child.)

(Yes, Derek is a werewolf. He leeches little bits of pain from patients when it won’t interfere with recovery.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about American candy. Ring Pops sound disgusting and sticky and impractical, and I have no idea when they stopped making Blue Raspberry Le-Moon-Ade ring pops, but I chose it because I couldn't find a picture of it, so the colour is probs wrong too. I also don't understand the American healthcare system no matter how much research I do, so I handwaved over ALL OF IT. You're welcome.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Blue Raspberry Le-Moon-Ade (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819123) by [AiJamaisFacil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AiJamaisFacil/pseuds/AiJamaisFacil)




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